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The roar of the crowd echoes in Yuri's ears, stoking the already raging fire in his veins as he lets his back touch the ice. Everything is light, sound, and sensation-- the burn of the ice on his back, the pounding of his pulse, the beads of sweat sliding down his body. It's over, but he's so keyed up, so high on the energy and the praise and the satisfaction. He feels electric, he feels invincible.

He knows Viktor and the katsudon have been thoroughly showed up, and he sees the way their faces gape at him, relishes in it, because this is his night, goddamnit. He won gold, and like hell is he going to let anyone take that away from him. Nor is he going to spend time indulging fans and reporters alike as he exits the ice with the only other person he wants to feel as brilliant and invulnerable as he does.

They're out of their skates quickly, and Yuri grabs Otabek's hand and runs, gleefully flipping off cameras as they go. Once they're out of sight for the most part he stops to catch his breath, struggling to breathe through his laughter.

"Did you see their faces?" he gasps out, leaning against a wall.

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Otabek had been fully ready to stop and answer questions about the show: how long did it take to put together? How was the music picked? When did you two find the time? But no, that's apparently not on the agenda for tonight. Instead, he's getting dragged out past cameras and fans and other skaters alike, his hand firmly held in Yuri's and it's all he can do to just hold on and try not to think about it too much.

When they finally come to a stop he wonders if he should let go, finally decides that it'll be up to Yuri to decide the when on that one, so he just stands in front of him, smiling faintly as he takes in the veritable glow Yuri has around him.

"I did. I don't think they believed their eyes."

Yuri lets out a brilliant laugh, eyes glinting with mischief and that spark of energy still aglow inside of him. He doesn't want it to go out, not yet, wants to ride it as long as he can. So he turns so they're facing one another, still holding Otabek's hand, and playfully bites his lip as he looks up at the other boy in an appraising sort of way.

He feels sexy. Here in Barcelona he isn't the skinny, awkward boy who hides himself in hoodies and hunches his shoulders-- he's smashing every expectation, rebelling against the rigid structure of his life, and though he knows this whirlwind will end he isn't about to let it go without a fight.

Leaning up just the few inches it takes, he presses a kiss against Otabek's mouth, firm and confident even though his inexperience is as painfully obvious as it gets.

There's some sort of something in the way Yuri looks at him, head just a little cocked, teeth pressed against his bottom lip, that catches Otabek off guard. It feels like the world is stilling around them, the distant sound of the crowd leaving the stadium barely heard above what's happening around them right now. He stills completely, poised to say something, when he's caught completely off guard.

Otabek doesn't push Yuri away, but he doesn't pull him closer either. He's too stunned to do much of anything at first except to wait for his brain to catch up to the realization that Yuri Plisetsky is kissing him.

Finally he reaches out with his free hand to settle it on Yuri's waist, his brain kicking in to tell him to kiss him back.

Yuri almost pulls back--still riding the high of his performance but also very young and very nervous--but then he feels Otabek's strong hand press against his waist and he grins against his mouth.

He pushes a little closer, hands on Otabek's chest, rubbing up and down the front of his shirt. His heart is thrumming like a livewire, his body on fire, and he moans a little as he opens his mouth to try and deepen their kiss.

Otabek feels like they should maybe keep moving out, to get further away from the public eye. There's a sensation that at any given moment, someone could come around the corner and see them making out against the wall. But there's also a small part of him that thinks maybe he doesn't care. Maybe the only thing that matters right now is that little noise that just left Yuri, the way he tries to press in closer.

His arms go further around Yuri's body, looping around his thin waist to keep him close. His tongue darts out, swipes along Yuri's bottom lip. There's a taste here that Otabek finds he likes more than he thought he would. He wants to do this at every given opportunity from now on.

After a while he pulls back, lips slightly plump with use, and he sucks in a few breaths. "Yuri..."

None of Otabek's concerns seem to occur to Yuri at all as he presses as close to Otabek as he can. He feels--so warm, so solid, and Yuri has never even dreamed that being held by a boy would be this amazing. He's still on such an adrenaline high, mixed with rampant teenage hormones, a heady feeling that he never wants to go away.

Otabek pulls away slightly and Yuri whimpers, his hands gripping the other boy's shoulders. The way Otabek says Yuri's name makes his knees week.

"Let's go to my hotel room," he breathes, his tone urgent.

There's a note to Yuri's voice when he speaks that makes Otabek just want to give him whatever he's asking for in that moment. If Yuri wanted him to run down the street and buy him the most expensive pair of sunglasses he could find, he would do it, no questions ask. His own hands tighten on Yuri's waist and he just sort of nods dumbly before the words register.

Wait. Back to his room? But that--

No. You know what? He wants it, too. He wants to run back, to go hide. Otabek glances across the street toward the hotel where they're all staying and he grabs a hold of Yuri's hand before he starts off, dragging the other boy along behind. "Let's go."

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